


In the Dark

by enma



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, One sided relationship, References to Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:05:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enma/pseuds/enma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam fantasizes in the dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Basically me exploring my kinks using Sam as my voice.

Sam fantasizes in the dark.

In the dark, with only perhaps a sliver of moonlight shining through the threadbare motel curtains, Sam lies in bed and lets his mind imagine.

Sick little thoughts and scenarios, hiding beneath a cocoon of shadows.

He can hear, just, over the far-away traffic and sounds of the night, he can hear Dean breathing. Just softly, little puffs of air, as he slumbers in the bed across from Sam.  
Sam bites his lip, lets his mind slip, and tries not to fixate on the curve of a cheekbone, the soft shell of an ear, deeper shadows of lashes, tries because there’s got to be a line somewhere. Even if you slide over it more times than you can admit. Tries not to watch and follow dips and rises of warm soft skin as his mind goes places and thinks things best never let out into the light. As his hand presses against his erection and he daydreams wonderful, terrible dreams in the dark where he can pretend nobody is watching.


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes, Sam likes to think about Dean’s mouth. ‘Cos, after all, he is only a man, with a man’s wants and failings. And his brother has such a pretty mouth. All soft and full and enticing with those lips women would pay to have. Lips men would pay to… And then there are his teeth with the cute little pointed canines that make Sam want to make him smile that little-boy-grin more often. But doesn’t. ‘Cos his self control is only so strong. And his brother has such a pretty pretty mouth.


	3. Chapter 3

Some nights, when the motel room is especially cold or they’ve been out in the snow or there’ve been one too many ghosts, Sam thinks about how warm Dean is.

Warm hands that rub his back, long agile fingers massaging away more than just physical pain. Warm arms that come round his shoulder and offer up silent comfort. Hot, firm body that slots so easily against his own, whether they’re walking along and bumping shoulders or sitting at a table and in each other’s space ‘cause everything is just too damn small and really, people should build things in larger sizes.

Little spots of heat from their knees pressed against each other. The dip of his collarbone where Sam can sneak his cold nose in against his brother’s flesh in the pretence of ‘hold me, everything’s too much’. Sam could go on for hours.

He thinks about how warm Dean is. But mostly about how almost too hot beneath the covers Dean feels against him on the all too rare occasions they share. Each time since they were kids flashes behind his eyes and he curls around his pillow wishing it was something firmer, hotter.

About how warm Dean’s heart is and how easily it caves for him. And then he tries hard not to think about anything as he wipes his sticky hand on the sheets and hides in the dark.


	4. Chapter 4

Late at night, when their work is done or when they are waiting to begin it, Sam lies in the dark and thinks about his brother’s voice. About the low steady rumble when tired but content, the brash snappy voice for orders and bad moods and people they find just generally irritating. The gentleness for victims and children and little brothers who aren’t so little anymore and should really grow up and stop pretending they need comfort just so they can hear the hum and feel the vibrations against their chest.

Sam doesn’t think, however, of Dean’s purr, the sexy and sex voice. Of how it becomes liquid silk when enticing and muttering endearments into unworthy ears. Of how it would feel to swallow the little gasps and chocked off cries and force out more. He shivers and presses further under the blankets, hiding and not thinking of how it would be to hear his name in that voice.

Then, in the dark, breath heavy and heart thumping, he doesn’t think of how Dean says ‘Sammy’ in the voice that speaks of awe and love and little brother.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam slides under the covers and listens to his brother fall asleep late at night in the dark. He listens as Dean’s barely audible breathing slows and deepens until he knows his brother is fast asleep. He listens and waits and slowly, oh so slowly, lets himself reach down and touch. And when Dean is fully asleep, Sam keeps one eye on the dark lump in the bed across from his and begins to think.

He thinks about maybe kissing Dean. Little kisses, completely chaste but full of love; kisses that Dean used to allow from his baby brother. He thinks about pressing his lips against Dean’s cheek, feeling soft skin and the scratch of light stubble. A tender kiss to his forehead to ease his cares. Another kiss to the crinkles at the corner of his eyes that only appear when he smiles just for his Sammy, saying just how grateful Sam is. A kiss to his knuckles to express that no matter how many times Dean gets hurt or angry or exhausted by life, he is precious.

A kiss pressed to his earlobe and just behind it- where the skin is so fragile and warm and Sam can nuzzle and scent his perfect brother- because he needs to be treated with care. No matter how hard the exterior appears to be, Sam knows his beautiful Dean is sweet and loving on the inside.

He’d kiss along the strong jaw and down his neck, taking in the vulnerability, accepting it and showing his beloved brother his dominance.

A kiss pecked lightly on his nose just to startle Dean and get those gorgeous eyes wide and shining in confusion. Teasing kisses to the corner of full lips to really begin the seduction and increase the heat between them.

And finally, he’d take those plush lips and caress them with his own and his tongue, tracing each dip and curve thoroughly, sliding inside when they part in shock or for breath and claiming Dean gently but completely.

He thinks about seemingly endless make out sessions and having Dean kiss him back. And when he thinks about Dean’s tongue in his mouth, about suckling and twisting his own round it, he bites down on the pillow and shakes.


	6. Chapter 6

When the clock ticks away in the small hours - little green glow almost sickly and yet warm in the gloom of their latest room - when it is late or really early, Sam thinks. He thinks and dreams and imagines and tries not to hate himself.

He pretends to sleep and when all is quiet and still he lets himself open up the little box of thoughts and indulges in his sin.

Today was a hard day and bruises adorn his flesh in soon to blossom black and blue flowers. Dean's skin matches his almost mark for mark and he knows this because he watched. He nudged open the door with it's broken lock and watched Dean under the spray of silver clear water. Just for a moment, just long enough to embed the image into his memories. Then he pulled the door shut quietly and turned back to his chores, carefully filing the image away for later perusal. For now, under the shadows.

Dean is beautiful. Tall with lean muscles and faintly scarred skin. His much-bemoaned freckles drift across his shoulders and down his spine, down down... in constellations of pale brown on cream. There isn't an ounce of extra fat despite his diet and that makes Sam alternatively jealous green and flushed aroused pink when he lets himself think.

He thinks about touching that smooth skin. Tracing those freckles with his fingertips, running a hand down a taut belly and feeling muscle and bone. He thinks about broad shoulders and strong thighs and feeling the grooves of abs beneath his palms. About stroking tender vulnerable flesh and feeling it change under his touch.

He pushes his hand between his own thighs and imagines.


	7. Chapter 7

Hours after the sun has set and the world has settled to sleep, Sam lies semi-awake. The near pitch black darkness cocoons his senses and he wonders whether he is dreaming.  
Dean is a steady presence in the other bed, both seemingly far away and too close. The sound of his breathing is so faint as to be imagined over the sounds of distant traffic. 

Sam thinks of nothing for a while and simply watches the flicker of the curtains in the wind. The pillow in his arms slowly changes form with emerging thoughts and Sam shifts absently. 

He longs for something, someone. And slowly that faint longing coalesces into desire. A desire for a warm, male body instead of the lumpy pillow. A solid back pressed to his chest, a pair of strong thighs to press his leg between and tangle their feet. Dreamily Sam presses his hips down into the mattress, imagining himself rubbing against something else.

Pretending smooth cotton is warm, soft flesh, he nuzzles and wraps his arms tighter around his brother. The dim fear of discovery barely registers over his growing arousal and he rocks deeper. 

Sam wishes he could feel the tender skin of Dean's inner thighs against him now. He reaches down with one hand and presses inside his boxers, letting his hips do all the work as he rocks to a suddenly urgent end. 

He'd pull down the soft cotton barrier and press skin against skin. The heat would be incredible and it would get slick with sweat and … other stuff. And Dean, all sleepy-sweet and lazy, would just lie there, unconcerned and indulgent. Sam would blanket him and pant into the vulnerable neck bared for him so trustingly. 

The bed is rocking and his breathing is harsh but there is no movement from the other side of the room. Sam closes his eyes and lets himself fall.


	8. Chapter 8

When the rain batters lightly at the window and clouds obscure the pale moon, Sam hitches the covers up to his chin to ward off the mild chill, and lets himself imagine.

It was not unusual for them to work out in the pouring rain and come back soaked, hair dark and heavy, clothes like second skins. Dean's lashes appear impossibly long when wet, his freckles standing out stark. 

Sam would like to lick each and every raindrop from his brother's skin. 

Dean in a shower is one kind of beauty, flushed and warm and full of fun as he soaps up, sings wildly off-key. Dean wet from night rain is ethereal and dangerous, pale and dark in turns and so very cold. His grin sparkling in the dark showing off his teeth against nearly blue lips. His shirt sticking to his chest and showing off perky nipples. 

Sam wants to strip him slowly, bite softly at a smooth collarbone and lap at the trail of rainwater down his throat. Wants to peel sodden jeans and underwear down and nuzzle at rapidly warming flesh. Wants to grasp at firm flesh and knead, swallowing grunts and groans with a devouring kiss. He'd reach in, down the line of heat to where Dean burns hottest and stroke, his other hand seeking out other heat and pressing tight. 

He'd wrap cold arms around his shoulders and his own around Dean's thighs, lifting and press them both against the wall. Dean would writhe in his arms, a full-body rub that would have them both gasping and Sam would pant into Dean's neck as they rocked together. Then he'd move his fingers to his brother's most private place and feel the heat of Dean's core. 

Sam reaches down under the covers and grunts softly.


End file.
